Withered

A pressing weight settled upon her soul. A stirring emotion, and a choking sadness. As the wind whipped her hair around her face and danced with a spirit not her own, her heart grew dead and cold in her chest. It was as a heavy stone, settling down in her stomach and as a hard knot in her throat. But her eyes were dry. Her face remained unchanged; her form unmoved by the force of the wind. Her body would not move, her face would not betray her emotion, but her heart lay on the ground at her feet, as her soul, crying out and withering like the dead grass strewn across the grey moors.
She would never be the same again; her heart was dead.